Hello, all! Hope everyone is doing well. This chapter is extra-long as an apology for my tardiness, and it features the long-awaited reunion between our two favorite knuckleheads. Read on and enjoy!

Disclaimer: (oops, almost forgot but unfortunately) I don't own anything except the plot. Rats.

Vanguard of Ares

Part 4: Befriending the Vanguard

-dust settles: first smile-

The Second Titan War ended with the Lord of Time shredded into dust and scattered to the winds of Tartarus. The gods of Olympus were victorious (their war fought and won by their children; at the cost of their children's lives).

The forty-eight hours immediately following the war were a blur of sifting through dust and debris, searching for the bodies of demigods and dryads and satyrs and a thousand other mythical creatures. Friends, brothers, sisters, lovers; allies of Olympus who gave their lives for the gods. Not all were recovered. Some, like Michael Yew, were lost at sea. Others had been dismembered almost beyond recognition.

Before Morpheus released his curse and allowed the mortal citizens of New York to wake, the children of the gods laid their deceased kindred to rest in the middle of Times Square. Zeus threw his lightning and Hestia tenderly tended the flames as the dead were reduced to ash, released from their mortal coils and blessed to descend into the Underworld, where Hades waited to shepherd them along into the Afterlife.

They say the smoke from the funeral pyre rose all the way up to Olympus, that it drifted through the hallowed, gold-trimmed halls like a ghost, haunting the breathtaking boulevards of the gods' stronghold.

It was a clear message. Even in death, the children of Olympus had learned of the gods' oath to Percy Jackson. Even in death, they refused to be forgotten. Legend said the smoke lingered until every last camper had been claimed by their godly parent.

They say Hestia and Hephaestus and Hermes built a monument to honor the fallen – a Celestial bronze sword etched with the names of each demigod lost was placed in a glittering shrine and anointed with Greek fire that would burn for all eternity, even after the gods faded from memory.

The mortal media struggled to make sense of the devastation the invisible, mystical war left in its wake. Stories about alien life and domestic terrorism and secret military-tests-gone-wrong were the most popular, prevailing theories.

Sometimes it hurt to know their sacrifice would never be acknowledged, that half-bloods were doomed to walk in the shadows of mortal day-to-day life. But true heroes don't need to be thanked, and the demigods knew the people who truly mattered – the survivors, the victors of the Second Titan War – would never forget. And that was enough.

The sons and daughters of Olympus were hard-wired for war, after all, and that made them especially resilient when it came to picking up the pieces of shattered lives.

Bloody and bruised but victorious, the surviving demigods returned to Camp Half-Blood. Three days after the death of Kronos, most children of the gods were once again safe behind the Golden Fleece's barrier, their sanctuary restored.

The majority of the campers arrived in a caravan: flying chariots, stolen cars hotwired by the few demigods who had survived long enough to learn how to drive, shadow-travel for the injured. There were a few misfits that trailed after them into Camp – the Vanguard of Ares, to name one.

The atmosphere of the campers' triumphant return to Camp was a curious mixture of elation and despair. Some trudged up Thalia's Hill and descended to cabins that would echo with the voices of those who had passed on. Others whooped and danced, the sight of home reminding them of the reason they had fought and won the Second Titan War: to defend their families, their golden-ichor ties.

Clarisse LaRue was one of the half-bloods who grappled with a mix of jubilation and gut-wrenching grief. The sight and scent of the strawberry fields were bittersweet, overshadowed by memories of Silena laughing and helping finish the chores, one of the few members of Aphrodite Cabin to never shirk their duties.

If Clarisse squinted, she could almost see Silena and Beckendorf strolling along the distant shore, hand-in-hand. Staring down into Camp Half-Blood from the cool shade of Thalia's Tree, her eyes pricked with tears.

Viciously, Clarisse swiped at her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

A flicker of movement and auburn hair caught her attention; Clarisse turned to see Yata standing beside her.

The Vanguard of Ares examined his old home with gleaming hazel eyes.

"I never thought I'd come back here," the soft admission made Clarisse flinch, but she forced herself to let her half-brother say his piece. "I wish I could have returned under better circumstances. But still . . ."

Yata trailed off, and Clarisse turned to him in concern. It took her a moment to distinguish his expression from under the shifting shadows of the pine needles as wind stirred the branches overhead, but after several long moments she realized he was . . . smiling, ever-so-slightly.

It was a simple curve of lips, shallower than an undrawn bow, but it was the first moment Clarisse had seen happiness grace her brother's face in a long time.

"It's good to be back," Yata said. Warmth bloomed in Clarisse's chest, but she would be damned if she let anyone see the fondness melt the steel in her eyes.

"Let's go," she said, starting down toward the Big House. "There's work to be done."

-dust settles: second smile-

The days following the half-bloods' triumphant return to Camp were highlighted by underwater kisses (which Clarisse teased Percy mercilessly for) and the burning of shrouds.

The bonfire crackled with pitch-black flames as one by one cabinmates and friends of the deceased bid their final farewells. Clarisse helped the Aphrodite Cabin lay Silena to rest with a delicate pink shroud embroidered with silver thread and scented with roses. When the children of Aphrodite stepped away, Clarisse bowed her head and reached into her pocket.

Withdrawing several glimmering scales that she had carefully removed from the drakon hide, Clarisse cast them into the fire and watched them smolder to ash on top of the shimmering dove that was emblazoned on Silena's shroud.

Eyes burning, Clarisse stumbled away from the flames. Her ichor-related family drew her back into the crowd with gentle words, the braver ones clasping her arm and giving it a consoling squeeze. Chris made his way to her side and twined their fingers together.

As the last of the shrouds disintegrated and the wind carried away the ashes, a hand landed on her shoulder.

Clarisse glanced over to see Yata staring somberly at the sky, his eyes dark with an emotion she couldn't identify. Allowing his touch to anchor her, Clarisse leaned into him and felt his arm slide to wrap around her, drawing her head down to rest on his shoulder.

"You're strong, Clarisse," Yata whispered. "You honor even traitors. Would that I could be as strong as you. Rest, now. You've earned it."

Closing her eyes, Clarisse allowed herself to be supported by two of the men she loved most in the world.

I wish you could have met him, Silena, Clarisse sent her parting thought with the ashes of her best friend's shroud. I wonder what you would have thought of the Vanguard of Ares.

V . O . A .

After the shrouds were burned, the half-bloods dispersed to take inventory of the Camp supplies and begin planning the grueling process of rebuilding.

Sending Chris off with his Hermes siblings to hold a vigil for the fallen Luke Castellan, Clarisse assigned herself the mission of making sure Yata didn't vanish without a word.

The first step of her plan involved making sure he had a place to sleep, so she led him to Ares Cabin and directed him toward an empty bunk.

"This hasn't changed much, either," Yata dropped his small pack on the floor and plopped down on the bed. His smile was small and fond as he took a moment to stretch out, groaning as the tension in his spine unwound.

Clarisse snorted. She scooped up Yata's bag and dropped it on his stomach, smirking when the breath whooshed out of him and he floundered comically, eyes wide.

"Hurry up and unpack so we can get to work," she commanded. Gasping, Yata rolled off the bed and glared at her.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, upending his pack on the mattress. Something twisted in Clarisse's chest when she saw he only had a change of clothes, a few bits of ambrosia, the flame-pendant Ares had given him, and—

"Wait," Clarisse reached into the pile and withdrew what appeared to be a silver wristwatch with a cracked clock-face. "What's this?"

Yata paled and snatched the bit of technology away, turning it over and over in his hands. Grumbling to himself in Japanese, Yata slid the watch on his wrist and fiddled with a dial. When the cracked screen remained blank, he cursed and yanked the watch off, dropping it on the bed and glaring down at it in disgust.

"I can't believe the damn thing broke," Yata scowled, and Clarisse tilted her head, curiosity getting the better of her: "Was it something important?"

"You could say that," Yata sighed. "I should have known it would be too delicate, but I though since it could survive my flames, it would—" the Vanguard of Ares shook his head. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

Yata tossed his belongings into a footlocker under his bunk. When he was finished, he looked up at her expectantly.

"I'm all unpacked. Let's go."

Clarisse wasn't convinced by his nonchalance. Frowning thoughtfully, she led the way out the door.

What was the significance of Yata's watch? It was the most high-tech she had ever seen. How could the Vanguard of Ares afford it?

Not for the first time, Clarisse wished she knew her half-brother better. She tired of secrets.

(Secrets had killed Silena. Clarisse would be damned if they got Yata too.)

-dust settles: third smile-

The first five days after returning from Manhattan and rebuilding Camp Half-Blood passed like this:

After the shrouds were burned, Chiron and Mr. D. formally welcomed the Vanguard of Ares back to Camp. Chiron did most of the talking; Mr. D. and Yata glared at each other the entire time.

Unspoken was the fact that not many survived turning their backs on the gods and leaving Camp Half-Blood to strike off on their own. Most campers idolized Yata for this, but it was clear Mr. D. despised him for it.

The senior campers were kept busy by alternatively building new Cabins and keeping track of a flood of new, doe-eyed ichor-cousins stumbling over Thalia's Hill.

The Hermes Cabin quickly emptied of unclaimed campers, and there was a sense of bittersweet joy as gods and goddesses finally welcomed their offspring under their respective banners.

To Yata's bemusement, the youngest campers began to trail after him like lost ducklings, drawn by curiosity and the fact that Yata was clearly a survivor. At age eighteen, Yata was one of the oldest members of Camp. He was a veteran and the fact he lived long enough to turn eighteen made him a legend.

As the days passed, he made himself useful by lending a hand with rebuilding the Cabins, keeping the newest arrivals busy by teaching them first-aid, and taking part in the guard rotation at the Camp borders. The Vanguard of Ares did his best to stay on the periphery of Camp activities, but Clarisse refused to let him skulk around. She made it her mission to drag him to and from various activities as much as possible.

Chiron inadvertently cemented Yata's presence in the Camp by seeking him out and publicly thanking him for his assistance during the Second Titan War (a speech during which the wiry son of Ares looked distinctly uncomfortable). The fact that Chiron – the Trainer of Heroes himself – sought out Yata to thank him elevated the demigod to hero-worship status in his younger cousins' eyes.

They were fascinated by the slight teenager with the brusque personality, always clamoring after him to ask him questions about this and that (is it true you can fight with a sword and a spear at the same time? can you really summon flames? how? does that make you a superhero? what was it like to visit Olympus?). Yata was notoriously tight-lipped, but his admirers' enthusiasm didn't waver in the slightest. And that was before a child of Aphrodite caught sight of Yata with his shirt off.

The Vanguard of Ares had been working with the Hephaestus Cabin to put the finishing touches on the Hades Cabin roof. The team of demigods had been hammering away for hours as the late afternoon sun beat down on them; sweat stung their eyes until Yata finally growled and pulled off his tank top, wrapping it around his head like a turban to try and find some relief from the relentless sun.

Tying a knot in the fabric at the base of his skull, Yata went back to work. Several children of Hephaestus followed his lead, shedding their own clothes to find some respite from the heat.

For a few minutes, there was an air of contentment on the Hades Cabin roof, but the peace was shattered by a shriek from down below. Fumbling with their tools and doing their best to calm their racing hearts, the roofing team craned their necks to peek over the edge and see what all the fuss was about.

To their surprise, Drew Tanaka and a gaggle of other Aphrodite children were gaping up at them.

"Oh my gods!" Drew shrieked again. "Yata, you have a tattoo?"

As one, the Hephaestus Cabin members turned their attention to Yata, whose face was crimson. The Vanguard of Ares' toned chest glistened with sweat, and sure enough, the children of Hephaestus could see a tattoo stenciled over his heart. (Although how Drew had been able to see it from so far away was not a question any of them wished to contemplate for very long.)

The tattoo was about the size of a fist. Drawn in tasteful red-black ink and shaped like a flame, the design stood out starkly on Yata's fair skin.

"Wait," a son of Hephaestus squinted and leaned closer, trying to make out the initials tattooed beneath the flame, "What does H.M.R. mean?"

"Yeah, Yata," Drew leered up at him. "What do those initials mean? Who's the lucky girl that stole your heart?"

By this time, a sizable crowd had gathered below, the other Campers always eager to learn something new about the mysterious Vanguard of Ares. When Yata flushed this time, it was with anger.

"It's none of your business," he snapped. And regardless of how hard Drew needled him, that was all he would say on the subject.

Yata refused to come down from the roof until dusk had fallen and most Campers had given up their quest for gossip in favor of dinner. Once all murmurs of conversation had faded from below, Yata slipped to the side of the roof and dropped to the ground.

Pulling the makeshift turban off his head, Yata shook out his tank top. He was just about to grudgingly head toward the Dining Pavilion, certain Clarisse would be on the warpath if he didn't show his face soon, when something shifted in the shadows in his peripheral vision.

Throwing out an arm in a defensive maneuver, Yata whirled around. The sparks igniting at his fingertips revealed the red-bathed features of a pale boy with dark hair and eyes. Belatedly recognizing the kid as the tenant of the cabin Yata had just spent the afternoon affixing a roof to, the Vanguard of Ares dropped his arm.

"Sorry," Nico di Angelo had the grace to look vaguely guilty, "I didn't mean to startle you. Drew looked like she wanted to corner me at dinner, so I shadow-traveled here and—"

The son of Hades glanced down and interrupted himself, "And I guess she wasn't lying for once. You really do have a tattoo."

"Why is it such a big deal?" Yata huffed, his ire rising anew from smoldering embers.

Nico shrugged, "You're a hero among heroes that showed up out of the blue. People are curious."

"There are better things to be curious about," Yata muttered, pulling his tank top over his head.

"What does it mean?" Nico asked quietly. "Your tattoo?"

Yata stopped and considered the son of Hades, before grumbling: "The flame is a symbol of my family."

"You have relatives outside of Camp?" Nico asked.

Yata smiled, hazel eyes gleaming gold as the last rays of the sun fell beneath the horizon, "No. HOMRA and I don't share blood, but our bond is strong because we protect each other."

Nico looked away, "You remind me of my sister."

"Your sister?" Yata raised his eyebrows.

"Bianca," Nico whispered, dark eyes fixed on the shimmer of early stars winking into life overhead.

Yata was familiar enough with the sound of old grief to know not to push for more details. The Vanguard of Ares remembered the army of undead the son of Hades had raised to help the demigods win the Battle for Olympus, could recall the slight boy standing alone at the head of a hoard of zombies, his ichor-cousins giving him a wide berth.

"You miss her," Yata winced as soon as the words slipped out, but Nico didn't seem fazed.

"I do," the son of Hades said, dark eyes suddenly boring into Yata, "and you miss your family."

Startled by the intensity of Nico's gaze, Yata glanced down to find himself rubbing absently at the tattoo etched over his heart. Grumbling, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, his face flushing.

Nico broke the silence, "I know it's been said before, but thank you for your help during the War."

"You're the one they should be thanking," Yata retorted. "Without your help, we would have been overwhelmed. Your sister would have been proud."

The next breath Nico took shuddered in his chest. He kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on the sky. "Bianca would have liked you. You figured out how to survive on your own. You didn't let yourself get pushed around by anyone. She would have respected that. I respect that."

Yata sighed, "Look, kid, it really isn't my place to say anything, since I've been out of the loop for five-odd years, but would you like some advice?"

He took the ensuing silence as an affirmative.

"Having a foot in two worlds is hard," Yata said. "It's a lot of struggle, and not many people understand why you won't just choose one or the other. But if you keep walking, eventually you'll meet people who don't care about it either way, and those people will become your nakama," at Nico's quizzical expression, Yata explained: "To have nakama is to have a bond with someone that is deeper than friendship, something almost familial even if you aren't related by blood."

Yata reached out and clapped a hand to Nico's shoulder, "Sometimes you have to walk a different path than your friends and family. It's nothing to be ashamed of. If anything," Yata waited until Nico met his gaze, then the Vanguard of Ares smiled, "bear it with pride."

In the distance, an irate Clarisse could be heard calling for her ichor-brother. Yata winced, "Just keep in mind that they would probably appreciate a visit from time to time.

"Look," Yata glanced around before snatching up a pen the construction crew had been using earlier to mark up wood. Holding out a hand, Ares' son waited expectantly until Nico hesitantly reached out to meet him halfway. Grabbing Nico's hand in a gentle grip, Yata flipped it over so the son of Hades' palm was facing up. Uncapping the pen, Yata started scribbling, "This is my number. Call me if you ever want to talk or if you need help. You could also IM me, but there's a better chance that you'll be able to reach me this way."

Once Yata released him, Nico looked down at his palm in shocked silence.

Clarisse called out again, her voice much closer than before. Running a hand through his hair, Yata heaved a sigh.

"You're a good guy, Nico. A hero. Don't ever forget that, no matter what anyone says."

With that, Yata turned away and started meandering in the direction his ichor-sister's voice was echoing from.

"Yata," Nico called after him, and the Vanguard turned to meet the grateful gaze of Hades' son, "Thank you."

"You're family," the Vanguard of Ares said firmly, as though that was enough to explain everything. Then he vanished into the dim dusk light, heading in the direction of the Dining Pavilion. The son of Hades stood in the shadow of his Cabin for some time, tracing the constellation of a Huntress who gave her life for people not related to her by blood.

"Nakama . . ." Nico di Angelo murmured, contemplating the stars until a chill breeze drove him inside.

-dust settles: fourth smile-

The demigods of Camp Half-Blood had their hard-fought peace shaken the next day when Rachel Elizabeth Dare billowed green smoke and a serpent's hiss.

"Seven half-bloods shall answer the call

To storm or fire the world must fall

An oath to keep with a final breath

And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death"

The veterans of the Second Titan War listened with pursed lips and old eyes (and some glanced at the Vanguard of Ares, muttering about fire). But the newer demigods kept the atmosphere light, and the Camp continued to settle.

A week had passed since Kronos' defeat, and the dawn of the seventh day found Yata standing in the Arena, having been voluntold to hold a training session for some of the newest heroes.

"Alright," Yata paced in front of his gathered students, "First rule: call me Yata, or else. Second rule: do as I say. Third rule: try your best to learn these moves and practice them. You never know when they might save your life. Fourth rule: don't be afraid to ask questions. No one understands this on the first try."

Picking up a staff from an arsenal of weapons neatly arranged to his left, Yata, cognizant of the younger (shorter) demigods craning their necks in the back of the crowd, held it up so everyone could see, "I know some of you want to jump right in and start using swords and spears because they look cool, but today you're learning how to be resourceful. The chances of you being out in the mortal world with a sword on hand isn't very high, so you have to learn to defend yourself using whatever means necessary."

Yata waited until the thoughtful murmurs of his audience had died down before gesturing to the pile of weapons, "Pick up a staff and form two lines facing each other. Let's begin."

Watching surreptitiously from the shadows of the Arena, Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase sat with their fingers intertwined.

"He's not bad," the daughter of Athena said, thoughtful gray eyes fixed on Yata's slight form as he led his students through katas, "His leg looks like it's mostly healed, and he gets along well with the younger half-bloods."

"Yeah," Percy agreed. "They really seem to like him. To be honest, I never thought a child of Ares would be such a good babysitter."

"Maybe," Annabeth mused, "wherever he's been, he's had to coexist with kids. Yata has a temper, to be sure, but he curbs it well around the younger half-bloods."

"Where do you think he's been, Annabeth?" Percy asked. In the back of his mind stirred the prickling question: how and why did Yata sustain a gunshot wound?

"If I had to guess," Annabeth looked uncomfortable, "I'd say he went back to his roots," her eyes fell to her free hand, to her knuckles that had gone white in a suddenly-clenched fist. "That's what I would do in his place."

Percy took in the darkness shadowing his girlfriend's beautiful gray eyes, remembering a stepmother who didn't care and a father Annabeth loved despite everything. Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, Percy brushed a kiss across her fingers and smiled cheekily when Annabeth turned to glare playfully at him.

"So, what would that mean for Yata?" Percy asked. "He's not from the United States, right?"

"To be honest, I don't know where he was born. But I do know his mother was Japanese, and that Japanese is his first language."

"Woah, he's trilingual?"

"At least. From what I've seen he has mastery over Japanese, English, and Greek."

"Wow," Percy turned back to watch Yata's class, smiling. "That's amazing. So, you think when he left Camp he went to Japan."

"Yes," Annabeth considered her hazel-eyed ichor-cousin. "His accent is thicker than it used to be, which implies he hasn't been speaking English for some time. And when you consider the time it took between Clarisse IM-ing him and his arrival in New York, give or take a few hours it aligns for the travel time between Japan and the east coast of the United States."

Annabeth's silence was uneasy before she continued: "I remember when he was here more than five years ago, Percy. He was odd, even among half-bloods. Ares claimed him the moment he stumbled into Camp. Some people despised him for that right away, out of jealousy. It didn't help that Yata was young, and angry, that his first language wasn't English.

"The fact an Eastern woman managed to entrance a Western-bound god itself is unusual, and you can see for yourself that Yata isn't exactly what you would imagine a child of Ares to be," Annabeth said, troubled. Percy winced guiltily at her words, but Athena's daughter continued: "Half-bloods shunned him, Percy. They would tease him for his accent, try to intimidate him with their height or their muscle. At first, not even his siblings accepted him.

"But Yata was scrappy. He spat bullies in the eye, raged and fought until they were forced to respect him," Annabeth sighed. "After the first six months, things improved, but the bottom line was that not even the one place on earth that should have been a sanctuary for him offered him much kindness. Because of that . . . I can't help but wonder why he came back."

"Nice dissertation, Princess," a hulking shadow fell over the pair, and the two half-bloods looked up to find Clarisse watching them with narrowed eyes. "You wanna know why Yata came back?"

Without waiting for a response, Ares' daughter claimed a place beside them, brown eyes watching intently as Yata showed a young boy how to sweep his opponent's feet out from under them, "I'll tell you. He came back because I asked him to, because even ichor is family. Yata came back because above all else, he's loyal."

"We didn't mean any offense, Clarisse," Annabeth said. The brown-haired girl merely snorted, concentrating her glare on the gathering of students.

After a few moments of almost-uncomfortable silence, Clarisse deflated slightly.

"He's restless," Clarisse said, and neither Percy nor Annabeth needed to ask who she was referring to. The daughter of Ares' shoulders slumped several millimeters, enough for the other half-bloods to notice her distress. Percy and Annabeth traded concerned glances as Clarisse murmured, "He hasn't changed."

The words settled over the trio like a waft of Oracle-smoke, choking sound into silence until Clarisse stood and marched to the center of the Arena.

"Hey, Yata!" she hollered. "Let's show these newbies how it's done."

Yata turned at the sound of his name, and his eyes lit up when he processed Clarisse's challenge.

"You're on," he said, teeth flashing in a smile that was a little too bloodthirsty for comfort. Within minutes, Percy and Annabeth found themselves the temporary caretakers of twenty young demigods, surrounded by bright eyes and excited whispering.

"Before we begin," Clarisse said, brandishing a spear as Yata drew out and unleashed his flame-shaped pendant, "I'd like to propose a wager. If I win, you tell me where you've been these past five years. Something more specific than 'Japan.' If you win, I'll take your next three shifts on babysitting duty."

Yata's smile morphed into a challenging smirk, "Bring it on, Clarisse. Prepare to lose."

Still smiling, they lunged forward at the same instant.

Clarrise struck the first blow, using brute force to knock Yata's spear aside and bruise his shoulder. Yata acted as though he hadn't felt a thing, spinning and swinging low to sweep Clarisse's feet out from under her, demonstrating a move his students had been trying to master.

Murmurs of adoration rumbled from the crowd. Annabeth and Percy watched with veteran eyes as the two ichor-siblings danced around each other.

For all that they shared a godly parent, Yata and Clarisse's fighting styles had few similarities. Both were capable of using brute strength to push their opponent around, but Clarisse favored that tactic much more heavily than her shorter half-brother.

Yata was faster than Clarisse, and nimbler. Darting around to keep out of her reach, Yata jabbed at her, tore her sleeve before she could dodge.

The back-and-forth continued for several minutes, until both opponents were sweating and smiling, the air around them flickering red.

Yata had a bruise swelling on his face thanks to a lucky blow from his ichor-sister. Clarisse stood tall and ready, knees bent. They grinned, their war-blood edging them into berserker territory.

After a few seconds of rest, they fell back to fighting with startling ferocity. The watching crowd had gone silent, mesmerized by the complex dance that was a brutal skirmish between two of Ares' children.

The ichor-siblings crossed spears and strained against each other, Clarrise cornering Yata closer and closer to the wall of the Arena. Yata snarled and surged forward. The sudden influx of power knocked the daughter of Ares off balance.

She scrambled to recover, but Yata used his spear as a pole, planting it in the dirt and using it to swing around, push off the wall, and slam his feet into Clarisse's stomach.

Clarisse's eyes bulged as the wind was forced from her lungs. Gasping, she toppled over onto her back. Yata was on her in an instant, twisting her wrist until she was forced to either drop her spear or break a bone. Clarisse's weapon rolled away and Yata crouched over her, pressing the blade of his own spear to her jugular.

"Well fought, Clarisse," Yata said. "Do you yield?"

"I yield," Clarisse said grudgingly. She smiled up at Yata, all teeth: "Just you wait, though. I'll get you next time."

Yata laughed and pulled her to her feet. He returned her spear and helped her limp over to the cheering crowd of new demigods. Clarisse's ankle had twisted when she fell, and to her dismay Yata deposited her in the middle of the group of preteens she was now in charge of.

The son of Ares watched fondly as the younger half-bloods clambered over themselves to talk with Clarisse, overwhelming her with questions about her spear and fighting style.

"Not bad."

Yata turned to see the son of Poseidon smiling at him, ballpoint pen in hand. "You mind if we go a round? Same wager."

Yata's hazel eyes considered Percy, and for a moment the son of Ares' face shuttered into opaqueness.

"I hate swords," Yata said with startling vehemence. Nevertheless, a challenging smirk curled on his lips. "Fine."

And then it was the son of war and the son of the sea facing each other in the shadow of the Arena. Percy hefted Riptide and considered the slender wood and Celestial bronze weapon that Yata wielded. Yata would have more reach, but Percy more maneuverability. Chances were Yata's strange crimson aura would offer him some protection from physical blows, but it was likely Percy's River Stygian-bathed skin would be more effective defensively (provided Yata's instincts didn't stumble across Percy's weak spot).

Percy hadn't fought seriously since the Second Titan War. He couldn't resist returning Yata's look of excitement, settling in for their spar. Absently, Percy realized this was the most alive he had seen Yata since the Battle for Olympus.

Yata moved first, kicking dust in Percy's face and using the cover of the cloud to slip behind him. Percy's back tingled and he somersaulted forward to avoid Yata's spear. Rolling to his knees, he slashed backwards and caught the spear-tip on the flat of his blade.

Surging to his feet, Percy flung Yata back and watched as Ares' son crouched with the staff of his spear pressed along his arm, blade poised to strike. (It might have been Percy's imagination, but for an instant he could have sworn the Vanguard of Ares' eyes burned blood-red instead of hazel.)

Percy sprinted forward. The two demigods exchanged blows, war-wired brains working faster than adrenaline to predict their opponent's moves and react accordingly.

Taking a gamble, Percy grabbed the staff of Yata's spear and wrenched it forward. Yata refused to relinquish it until Percy followed up with a sword-swipe to the gut. Yata threw himself backward with more grace than Percy thought was fair, and the son of Poseidon finally succeeded in capturing the son of Ares' only means of attack.

For an instant, as Yata put distance between them, Percy considered trying to use Riptide and Yata's spear (did it have a name? Please let it be more original than Maimer) simultaneously.

The spear made the decision for him, shrinking down to its original pendant form in an instant. Shrugging, Percy tossed the pendant to Clarisse for safe-keeping and followed Yata across the Arena.

As he swung Riptide down, he had an instant to notice that the Vanguard of Ares looked awfully content for not having a weapon. Percy dismissed the unease and prepared to pull back so he didn't accidentally slice Yata's head open, but then crimson heat exploded in front of his face.

Percy stared down at Yata in shock. The Vanguard of Ares smirked, an echo of Clarisse's smugness, and Percy realized Riptide's blade had been caught between Yata's palms, which had also coincidentally caught fire.

"What the—?!" Percy squawked. Yata bared his teeth, victorious. The next thing Percy knew, Yata's crimson aura had enveloped him like the embrace of an old friend and Percy was being forced to dodge flaming fists.

Yata beat him back across the Arena and Percy desperately tried to retaliate. He swore he could feel his eyebrows singe off when Yata's arm swung within inches of his face.

Well, Percy thought, the exhilaration of a good spar buoying something in his chest. If that's how it's gonna be.

He raised Riptide and felt the tugging sensation inside him reaching for water molecules—

A roaring sound accompanied by a shadow falling over Yata made the Vanguard of Ares to look up. He registered an orb of water floating overhead, gleaming in the cloudless sky.

Yata had just enough time to flash a glare at Percy, who grinned, before Riptide fell and the weight of the water forced Yata to the ground.

Spluttering indignantly, Yata rolled onto his side and coughed. Concerned, Percy approached the older demigod, wondering if he had gone too far.

There was a gust of heat, and then Percy was the one flailing, trying desperately to put out his shirt, which had mysteriously caught fire.

"Truce?" he called to Yata, grudgingly impressed.

The Vanguard of Ares kept him in suspense for a moment before relenting, "Truce."

Yata allowed Percy to help him to his feet, and then the two made their way back to the gathered demigods. The crowd immediately gushed at them, and Percy smiled before a young demigod's concerned voice cut through the cacophony.

"Mr. Yata, sir? Are you alright?"

Yata looked bemused by the honorific, and Percy realized belatedly that the shorter man was limping, favoring the leg with the gunshot wound.

Clarrise smacked Yata on the back of the head, "I thought you said it was healed!"

"It's fine!" Yata retorted, and Percy interjected hurriedly: "Thanks for the spar, Yata. You're an amazing fighter. I'll take on the babysitting duties."

Keen hazel eyes turned to consider him before Yata said, "We called truce, baka. It ended in a draw. You can help Clarisse look after the brats."

"What about your end of the bargain?" Clarisse insisted.

Yata's lips pursed for an instant before he closed his eyes, "Fine. After I left Camp, I bounced around a lot. I've been living in Shizume City for the past few years."

The revelation meant nothing to Percy, but Annabeth's eyebrows drew together. "Isn't that the place where a nuclear power plant exploded a few years ago?"

Yata's eyes flickered away, "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?" Clarisse and Annabeth echoed incredulously. Yata looked mutinous, and Percy hurried to usher everyone out of the Arena before another argument could break out.

After he finished divvying up babysitting duty shifts with Clarisse, he waved goodbye to the new half-bloods and headed to the beach with Annabeth.

"He was able to fend me off with his bare hands," Percy whistled, mind still going over his spar with Yata.

Annabeth nodded, "That aura of his is something, alright. I wonder where he draws his power. I doubt it's from Ares."

"If it's not from Ares," Percy frowned, thinking of Clarisse's blessing from her father, "then where in Hades is it from?"

"I don't know," Annabeth's gray eyes flickered. Percy could practically hear the wheels turning in her head, "But I intend to find out."

Percy said nothing, simply wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her in for a kiss.

-dust settles: fifth smile-

Yata relaxed somewhat after the Arena fights. He was more rowdy and hot-headed, loud and vibrant and there in a way that was almost enough for fellow campers to ignore his restless gazes to the East and the fact satyrs avoided him like he was the harbinger of a Nature-ending apocalypse.

Percy tried to broach the subject with Grover, once. His best friend bleated something between a whisper and a whimper.

"He reeks of violence," Grover looked like Cerberus was nipping at his cloven hoof-heels. "And he smells like fire. He's a nice guy, Percy, but I just can't stand to be around that for too long."

At that point, it was almost two weeks post-War's end, and the Camp was recovering slowly but surely. New frames had been raised for new Cabins, and a dragon had been hired to guard the Golden Fleece. The great lizard curled contentedly around Thalia's Tree. Within hours it was being worshiped and spoiled by the younger demigods.

For a few days, Percy allowed himself to believe that maybe peace was possible. Maybe he could relax and head back to Manhattan, have dinner with his mother and step-dad. Introduce them to Annabeth again, this time as his girlfriend (a ridiculous giddy sensation still swept over him whenever it hit him that Annabeth – beautiful, devastatingly-brilliant Annabeth – was his girlfriend).

But demigods' luck was more mercurial than the wind.

Day Thirteen after the Battle for Olympus found all the half-bloods gathered in the Dining Pavilion for the evening meal. Cheerful conversation buzzed and utensils clattered against plates.

The fire burned merrily in the middle of the Pavilion. Ares Cabin was the last to sacrifice that day, and they had just sat down when the flames exploded outward.

Cries of alarm rang out as demigods scrambled away from the epicenter, but for all its ferocity, the fire did not actually harm them.

When the flames receded, a man in a biker outfit and a woman in a skin-tight dress stood in the center of the Pavilion.

"Dad?" Clarisse said in disbelief, echoed by Drew Tanaka's equally confused, "Mom? What are you doing here?"

Aphrodite smiled, "Hello, dears. Sorry to interrupt dinner. Ares wanted to make an announcement."

Leather creaked as the god of war swung his great head to the table where his children were gathered. "Clarisse and Yata. Front and center."

Exchanging a glance, the siblings got up and rounded the table. They stood at attention before their father, faces blank.

Ares' lips curled in a gruff semblance of a smile, "It's good to see you again, son. From what I hear, you've done quite well for yourself."

The war god didn't seem to notice the stiffness his words injected into Yata's shoulders, continuing in his booming, drill sergeant voice, "No blood, no bone, no ash, isn't that right, kid? Your leader sounds like a guy after my own heart."

Yata did not respond, his face a shade paler than normal. Aphrodite filled the ensuing silence by giving the room in general a saucy wink, "I see your noble leader and resident blonde genius have finally taken the next step to tying the knot."

Percy and Annabeth flushed to the roots of their hair.

"Speaking of love that needs a little, shall we say, special attention to flourish," Aphrodite turned the full force of her gleeful gaze on Yata, "I wanted to stop by and let you know I'm bringing you a gift, son of Ares. You deserve something for all your sacrifice, wouldn't you agree?"

Yata resembled a deer in the headlights, spots of color flushing high in his cheeks. Whether out of mercy or not, Ares came to his rescue, "Don't tease him, babe. He'll find out soon enough. Now," Ares cracked his knuckles, "enough of the sappy stuff. I came to honor the both of you.

"Clarisse LaRue, you fought well in the Battle for Olympus. You did me proud. For that I officially bestow upon you the title of Drakonslayer."

The Ares table whooped, and Clarisse tilted her chin up as Ares clapped a hand on her shoulder. Then he turned to his son, "And you, Yata. You've carried my name well since your mother died. You have her fire in you. I hope you realize that."

Yata's eyes glistened suspiciously bright, and Ares settled his hands on his son's shoulders as he continued: "You've always done what you want. People used to say it would get you killed, and it still might, but that conviction is something I admire. You have earned this, musuko.

"Stand proud and protect what you love, Vanguard of Ares."

Bolstered by the emotion on Yata's face, the entire Pavilion erupted into cheers. Campers surged forward to congratulate the shell-shocked ichor-siblings. Ares gave both of his children a gruff hug before he and Aphrodite exited the Pavilion and vanished in a flash of light.

V . O . A .

Clarisse found Yata on the beach after Campfire that night. He was barefoot, his toes hidden in the sand, leaning back on his hands. She sat with him and for a moment the two enjoyed the silence of a peaceful night.

Ares' daughter absently played with the coarse sand, wondering whether or not she dared attempt conversation. She knew that Yata was a private person, but he was her brother and she worried about him. Not to mention, Clarisse didn't like the love goddess's idea of 'fun.' That particular brand of meddling had gotten her best friend killed.

"Yata," Clarisse said, too loud in the quiet of the night, "what did Aphrodite mean when she said she was bringing you a gift?"

Yata tensed, and Clarisse quickly said, "If you don't want to answer that, can you at least tell me why you go out of your way to avoid the Aphrodite Cabin?

"They're not all bad," she admitted grudgingly, thinking again of Silena. Clarisse hoped Silena and Beckendorf had found each other in the Fields of Asphodel, that they finally had a chance to be happy.

Yata grimaced, "I've never been good with girls."

Got that right, Clarisse snorted; remembering several memorable occasions when they were younger, how flustered Yata would get when talking to a pretty girl.

"Shut up," he grumbled, but there was no malice in it. "I guess the long and short of it is I don't like to be taunted about my love life. Aphrodite Cabin . . . they always act like they know something I don't. It pisses me off. And Aphrodite's so-called 'gift,' well . . . I don't plan on sticking around long enough to find out what she means."

The truth stung Clarisse. "You're leaving."

"Tomorrow," Yata nodded.

Clarisse's mouth turned down as she recalled old pain and her question came out more bitter than intended, "Why don't you stay?"

Yata rubbed absently at the tattoo over his heart, "I told you before, Clarisse. I have a duty."

Hurt burned in Clarisse's chest like a Celestial bronze blade stabbed through her ribs. Yata, too perceptive at the worst of times, noticed and hastened to reassure her, "I promise I'll always be an IM away. You can get ahold of me at any time."

Clarisse stubbornly refused to drop the subject, "You were gone for five years, Yata, and you won't tell us anything. I know you don't like being at Camp and I know Dad was a jerk to you before you left, but you still helped us when we needed it. How are we supposed to know if you need help? What if you die and I never know?"

Tears pricked her eyes and Clarisse swiped at them angrily.

When Yata responded, he sounded pained, "I promise I won't die. The place I need to get back to, the people there . . . well, they're like family to me, and they'll always have my back."

He wrapped an arm around his ichor-sister's shoulders, and despite the fact Clarisse was taller, she rested her head on his shoulder. Yata sighed, "It's complicated, Clarisse. The less that you and the rest of Camp knows, the safer you'll be."

"You always have to try and protect us from everything," Clarisse murmured, her tears of frustration drying up.

She could feel the muscles in his cheek shifting as he smiled, "I'd be a sorry excuse for a Vanguard if I didn't. It'll be okay, imouto."

Clarisse returned his smile reluctantly, the inevitable loss of her ichor-brother as sharp as Silena's. "Just don't sneak out before dawn or something. Let me say goodbye this time."

"Of course," Yata murmured. The two leaned against each other for a few more minutes before Clarisse pulled away and got to her feet.

"Good night, Yata."

"Good night, Clarisse. Sleep well."

She left him staring out East, fiddling with his flame pendant. As she walked away, the screeches of the cleaning harpies echoing over the sand dunes, it occurred to her that something had changed.

Before Yata left Camp all those years ago, his eyes used to search the horizon. Now, the Vanguard of Ares' gaze was fixed unerringly in one place.

Whoever his 'second family' is, Clarisse thought, they must be pretty amazing to hold his loyalty like that.

-dust settles: sixth smile-

The next day was the two-week mark since Kronos' defeat.

Just after breakfast in the Dining Pavilion, the Camp trudged up Thalia's Hill to see Yata off.

Campers crowded around the Vanguard to wish him well. The air buzzed with a strange mixture of bittersweet sincerity. Yata gruffly said goodbye to his adoring fans (the younger demigods), and shook hands with Percy, Nico, and Annabeth.

He told Chris to treat his ichor-sister properly, adding, "If she doesn't kick your ass for messing with her, I sure as Hades will."

Chris nodded good-naturedly and stepped away to give Clarisse a moment with her brother. The daughter of Ares didn't hesitate to draw Yata into a bone-crushing hug. He returned the embrace and nodded when she made him promise to at least check in every month.

Finally, the Vanguard of Ares shouldered his pack and turned to where Chiron was watching quietly. The great centaur stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Yata mirrored him and raised a challenging eyebrow, "Not gonna try and stop me?"

Chiron's smile was sincere, "No. I've learned that trying to force you to do anything you don't want to do is futile. Besides, you can take care of yourself. Just remember, Yata," he laid a hand on the Vanguard's shoulder, "we will always be here if you need us. Safe travels, Vanguard of Ares."

The gathered half-bloods echoed his words. Yata nodded and prepared to pass beneath the shadow of Thalia's Tree.

He stepped forward, and a blinding flash of light exploded on the other side of Thalia's Tree.

When the light faded an instant later, it left behind a young man dressed in a blue uniform with a sword strapped to his hip.

There was a moment of shocked silence as the lone young man and the crowd of half-bloods considered each other.

The instant the demigods registered the sword strapped to the stranger's side, they reached for weapons most had forgotten back at the Cabins. Within moments, the weaponless had bowed to the prepared, and shoved the less-experienced behind them, forming a wall of bristling blades between the stranger and their beloved Camp. Adrenaline raced through war-wired limbs. The only thing that separated the children of the gods from the sword-totting young man was the invisible boundary that kept monsters and mortals from invading their sanctuary.

However, since the stranger had appeared in a flash of light, the half-bloods weren't sure what he was – god? mortal? monster?

. . . Something worse?

Paranoia was a lesson every demigod had become intimately acquainted with, and the Second Titan War had been a cruel mentor.

The look of shock faded from the blue-haired young man's face as he watched the gathering turn against him. Mouth set in a grim line, the stranger's glasses glinted as his cold sapphire eyes narrowed. Wordlessly, he reached for the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip.

"Wait!"

The shout came from Yata, and as one the demigods froze, startled by the bite of command in his voice.

Trusting Annabeth to warn him if the stranger made a move, Percy glanced back at the Vanguard of Ares.

Standing amidst the crush of well-wishing ichor-cousins, brothers, sisters; Percy could just barely catch a glimpse of Ares' honored son.

Yata's face was bloodless, his mouth slack, his hazel eyes wide and fixed unerringly on the young man standing just beyond the Camp boundaries. For several endless moments, the tense silence stretched on, Camp Half-Blood deferring to Yata's command (because Yata was an elder, a mentor, a friend, a hero; he had proven himself worthy of their trust and they would follow him anywhere).

Then Yata exhaled, uttering something that could have been a word, could have been a growl, could have been a sigh. It sounded like:

"Saru . . ."

A spark returned to the Vanguard of Ares' eyes, and his cheeks flushed with anger as his expression turned thunderous.

"Damn you, Aphrodite," he snarled under his breath. The demigods who heard him recoiled in bewilderment. Yata lifted his chin and used the opening to begin pushing his way through the crowd.

"Let me through!" he snapped, and his golden-ichor relatives rushed to obey, clearing a path for him and giving him a wide berth.

Crimson flames licked at the Vanguard of Ares' heels. Sparks trailed from his fingertips as he made his way to the front of the crowd like a lion emerging from the savanna, the demigods bending aside like grass stalks in the breeze.

The stranger was on guard throughout the entire exchange. He'd been intently examining Chiron in all his centaur glory, but the moment Yata spoke his gaze had snapped back to the mass of half-bloods milling around before him like a fox scenting blood.

Palm hovering over the hilt of his sword, the blue-haired young man remained absolutely still until Yata finally managed to make his way to the front.

The instant the Vanguard of Ares stepped into view, the stranger's blue eyes went wide and the hand edging toward his sword dropped back to his side as though he were a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"Misaki?" he whispered, voice soft with disbelief; with awe, and the children of the gods winced despite themselves, bracing for the indignant shouts that would no doubt imminently erupt from Yata, furious that someone dared to call him by his first name.

But the Vanguard of Ares, his hands curled loosely at his side, chin raised, simply said:

"Saru."

As though a switch had been flipped, 'Saru's' blue eyes narrowed and the almost soft (almost tender) expression on his face curdled like sour milk. Mouth pressed into a thin line, the blue-haired stranger drew himself up until he was towering over Yata, glaring down at the vertically-challenged demigod with such intensity the rest of the half-bloods shifted uneasily.

The stranger hissed something in a voice cold as ice and sharp as a Celestial-bronze blade, but the words blurred in a way most of the demigods couldn't understand, syllables simultaneously enunciated and slurred together.

Then Yata replied in the same unfamiliar language, shoulders stiff and hands curling into fists.

Comprehension dawned on Annabeth, and she whipped around, eyes scanning the crowd for—

"Drew!" Annabeth stage-whispered. The love goddess' child raised an eyebrow, and Annabeth said:

"They're speaking Japanese, right? Can you translate for us?"

Wickedness gleamed in Drew Tanaka's dark eyes, and her perfect cupid's-bow mouth curved into a smirk.

"But of course," she simpered. "The hot, blue-haired guy just said, 'Where the hell have you been?' and Yata replied 'What's it to you, Saru?' Although 'saru' means monkey, so maybe Yata is insulting—"

"Drew!" Every demigod in the vicinity exclaimed. "Focus!"

"Fine," Drew huffed and pouted for a moment. "It's not that interesting, though. They're arguing about Yata disappearing without a word, and how it's upset the balance—

"Oooh," Drew interrupted herself, eyes fixed on Ares' most mysterious son, wound so tight the tendons stood out in his forearms. "That wasn't very nice, Yata. Even you have to admit that Saru has a very fine—"

"Ahem," Chiron cleared his throat, and Yata's mouth snapped shut, ceasing his argument with the now-smirking stranger.

"Why don't you introduce us to your friend, Yata?" Chiron suggested.

"Friend?!" Yata spluttered, his eyes flashing dangerously. "No way is this piece of—"

"Misaki," the stranger interrupted, the smirk gone from his face. He said something else, low and serious. Drew gasped, and the demigods glanced at her in alarm.

Whatever the stranger said, it was enough to silence Yata. The two locked gazes, a muscle twitching in the Vanguard of Ares' clenched jaw.

The blue-haired, sharp-eyed stranger strode forward until he had to be inches from the barrier. (How does he know where it is? Annabeth wondered.)

The young man reached out until the air rippled around his hand. Somehow the barrier allowed the gathered demigods to understand his next words:

"Misaki," he said. His voice rasped with an undercurrent of near-pleading. His gaze was fixed on burning hazel eyes. "Let me in."

Yata glared for several more seconds before he huffed and crossed his arms. "Fine. I, Misaki Yata, son of Ares, allow the clear-Sighted mortal Saruhiko Fushimi to enter Camp Half-Blood."

Clear-Sighted? Annabeth reeled at the revelation. That explains why he was able to see the barrier.

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. The children of the gods reluctantly lowered their weapons as the barrier shimmered for an instant. Saruhiko Fushimi sauntered into Camp Half-Blood.

Pausing just in front of the Vanguard of Ares, Saruhiko returned Yata's glare. Then, between one breath and the next, the stranger's hands darted out and he pulled Yata into a tight embrace.

Squawking, Yata tried to squirm away. The campers tensed. Saruhiko whispered something in Yata's ear and buried his face in the shorter man's chestnut hair.

The fight went out of Yata's limbs. He relaxed into the hug, a tiny smile tugging on his lips. Aphrodite's children cooed, and although the tips of Yata's ears burned red, he did not let go of Saruhiko until the blue-haired young man grudgingly released him.

"Yata," Chiron said. "Allow us to adjourn to the Big House. It seems you have a story to tell."

Flustered, the Vanguard of Ares shrugged. As the group moved down the Hill into the Camp, the demigods couldn't help but notice that for all Yata seemed to be hostile towards Saruhiko, the two never strayed more than an arms-length from the other's side.

Yata, the demigods wondered. What in Hades have you been up to?

How was it? Everything you dreamed of? Let me know! And as always, thank you all so much for your continued support. It really means a lot to me. 3

Customary Question: Where would you rather be stranded - an iceberg or an island? I personally think an iceberg would be pretty cool, provided rescue is on the way. So much ice art to carve!

I think there's only one more chapter to go after this, plus an epilogue. See you all next time!

Have a great summer!

~Home By Another Way